


That Midnight Sky: Shear Freedom

by AdrianBlack



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Companion Piece, Family Bonding, Gen, Healing Through Hair Cutting, Inspired by Fanfiction, New Beginnings, POV Zuko (Avatar), hair cutting, letting go, please read That Midnight Sky by zukkababey first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrianBlack/pseuds/AdrianBlack
Summary: [He’s doing this.  Hewantsto do this.  But something is keeping him on edge.  Like he’s still running and the face of his father in the mirror is what’s chasing him.  And maybe his actual father, too.He reaches for the thick pair of scissors he grabbed out of the kitchen drawer and they feel heavy in hands.  But it grounds him and he feels a tendril of resolve within him and he grasps at it.]***Another companion fic to That Midnight Sky.  This time, Zuko’s POV of cutting his hair.(I knoooowww!! I can’t stop myself!)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	That Midnight Sky: Shear Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zukkababey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukkababey/gifts).
  * Inspired by [That Midnight Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167479) by [zukkababey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukkababey/pseuds/zukkababey). 



> Please make sure you have read all the way through That Midnight Sky as this story takes place during the last chapter.
> 
> (I suppose this is another “Between the Lines”, but since it is for all ages, I thought I’d keep it separate from that series, just to be on the safe side.)
> 
> CW: alcohol  
> ***  
> Writing this was something very personal for me, as I just went through my own hair cutting experience (you can read more about it in the end notes). I hope you all enjoy this look into the cleansing, healing process of letting go in this way and, like me, gain a bit more sympathy for Zuko for cutting off his gorgeous hair.

Zuko’s fingers drum an anxious beat against the side of the porcelain sink. He takes a shaky breath and looks up at his reflection. The mirror is chipped and the dim light makes his face look sick. Or maybe that’s just his nerves.

He’s doing this. He _wants_ to do this. But something is keeping him on edge. Like he’s still running and the face of his father in the mirror is what’s chasing him. And maybe his actual father, too.

He reaches for the thick pair of scissors he snagged out of the kitchen drawer and they feel heavy in hands. But it grounds him and he feels a tendril of resolve within him and he grasps at it.

His fingers wrap around the lock of hair at his shoulders, and he holds it out, away from his face. The scissors are shaking as he slides the blades apart, bringing them to the tightly pulled black strands.

There’s a movement in the mirror and he whips around to see Azula leaning against the door frame. Her face is guarded and unreadable, a perfectly manicured eyebrow arched.

“So this is what you needed to do?”

Zuko nods. He looks back into the mirror. His face is tight and so like his father’s that his eyes soften immediately. His shoulders drop and the scissors clatter in the bowl of the sink.

He glaces back to Azula through the mirror and her brows are furrowed but she seems to actually want an answer. He looks into the dark eyes of his reflection and confesses aloud to her. And to himself.

“I hate that I look so much like him. And I can’t change that. But I _can_ change this,” he punctuates with a tug on the black locks.

He holds the chunk of hair out defiantly and picks up the scissors in a rush, blades pressed sharply against the strands, but he stops. His breath hitches. His hands won’t move. He desperately tries to remember his father’s stupid reason for not allowing this. But there was no reason. There never was. 

_It was all about control._

The thought strikes him like lightning. Control. _Control_! That’s all it was _ever_ about. Ozai controlling him. Controlling Azula. Controlling their _lives_. Where they lived. Who they were friends with. _Who they loved,_ Zuko thought with a pang.

Well, Zuko was no longer _his_ to control. He already took it back.

His fingers close fast and the silence is ripped by the indescribable sound of hair being sliced through. The scissors snip shut with a clink. Zuko lets out a shaky breath.

He looks in the mirror and sees that he’s cut it just above his chin. The scar his father gave him stands out against the hair cropped close to his cheek. The chunk is cut at a fat angle and looks ridiculous, but the hairs grasped in his fist weigh a tonne. He lets them slip from his fingers and a sense of _lightness_ drifts up his arm.

He feels _giddy_.

He turns to look at Azula directly and holds the scissors out to her.

“You do one,” he offers.

Azula looks alarmed. Like Zuko has gone crazy.

“Look, Azula. You know how much Father controlled us. Lied to us. About each other! He forced us to compete for his affection. I-” his voice broke.

Everything he thought he knew was a lie. Father _didn’t_ call for an ambulance. He lied to _Azula_ when he abandoned him with Uncle in Montreal the last time. And now that he knows his father is _incapable_ of love, he's relieved of the burden to strive for it.

Zuko takes a deep breath and starts again. “Everything is different now,” he turns back to his own reflection, “and I need to change too.”

He picks the scissors back up. He isn’t shaking anymore. Good.

He gathers up another chunk of hair and snips it off. The scissors tug at the hairs all the way down to his scalp and he can _feel_ them being separated. Relieved.

“ _Come on,_ Azula. You know you want to. Think of it as really _cutting_ Father out of our lives. I’m tired of seeing him in my reflection.”

He presses the scissors into her hands again and this time she takes them. Twirls them between her fingers.

“Fine. But not with these. If you’re going to do this, you better do it right.” She set them down on the old sink. “I will _not_ have you looking like a dog that was left alone with an eight-year-old.”

She steps out of the cramped bathroom and Zuko picks the scissors back up, snipping off more strands of hair. He doesn’t care about it being even right now, he just wants it gone. A child-like thrill of rebelliousness is settling in and he starts hacking away bit after bit.

Azula finds him like that, an elegant, shiny pair of thin trimming shears in her fingers. She bites back a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Leave some for me,” she demands. She snatches up some of the remaining long hairs in the back that aren’t as easy for Zuko to reach. Their eyes meet through the mirror and she seems lighter too. Like she’s glad he asked her to be included in this.

Because this is for her too. They did this together. And he’s not even sure if he really knows who she is. How much of his perception of her is made up of Father's lies? But he does know that he loves her. She’s his baby sister, after all. And finding out that she’s been protecting him all this time, or trying to at least, was startling. He knows that they will have to rebuild their own relationship too. And this is just the beginning. They did this _together_.

Her hands are on his shoulders and she’s waiting for him to give his permission. They lock eyes and he nods, vision blurring. This is it. She gathers up the last of his hair and combs her fingers through it. It feels like a gentle good-bye.

The snip of the shears is much softer this time and it tugs less at his scalp. But it still feels heavy. Like the last weight to be lifted off his shoulders. The end of a painful chapter. The anxiety and fear of starting a new one.

But he’s not alone. Ozai did everything he could to isolate him and keep him from growing roots. But he failed. He has Azula. And Uncle. Aang and his friends are here, too. And Sokka, maybe. _Hopefully_.

“How short do you want it?”

Azula’s question snaps him out of his reverie and he looks up. Feels the wetness on his face. Azula’s expression is soft, like she understands some of the turbulence swirling inside of him.

“I don’t care,” Zuko whispers. Hoarse. “I trust you.” His eyes close and another tear drops from his lashes. Azula’s nails dig into his shoulder and she squeezes tight. Reassuring.

“Okay. How’s that?”

Azula is by no means a professional, but she got it even and it even looks good. It hangs just above his ears and is starting to curl from the water she’d spritzed on it. His hand reaches up and he brushes his fingers along the scar on his cheek. He can’t hide it behind his hair anymore. But it doesn’t twinge like it used to and he almost feels a sense of pride, like it’s a battle scar. It certainly feels like he just went through a battle. That sense of victorious shock when you win unexpectedly has been hanging in the air.

She tugs at bits of hair and combs it more, fussing, her perfectionist side coming out. He bats her hand away and stands quickly, wrapping her in a hug. It shocks her and she stiffens but relaxes into it quickly. She’s learning too. How to love. Her arms wrap around his waist and she presses her face into his neck. He sees her shoulders tremble and realizes she’s crying too.

He holds her through it and it doesn’t last very long before she’s pushing him away and wiping at her face. A long strand of Zuko’s hair clings to the damp trail her tears left down her cheek. He pulls it off her face and she chuckles wetly.

“You look so different now. I like it.”

Her sigh is weary and her face is etched with the weight of everything they’ve gone through in the last 24 hours. Or is it 48? How many days has it been?

“I think we need to celebrate.”

Uncle Iroh’s soothing voice still causes them to jump. He props a broom and dustpan against the door frame and bustles off into the kitchen. The floorboards creak loudly through the small apartment above the tea shop.

It only takes a few minutes to sweep up the hair on the floor and off the sink, but the pieces that had fallen down his shirt and the ones stuck to his neck are starting to itch. Azula picks up her shears, giving Zuko another once over before stepping into the hall.

“I like it,” she repeats, softly closing the door behind her. 

She leaves him alone with the mirror.

He looks at himself with new eyes. Turns his face side to side and feels a tiny loss, missing the sensation of hair that no longer slides over his shoulders. But he likes it. It’s different. New. He feels reborn. Like he can do _anything_ he wants. The world is so full of possibilities. He _left_ his father. Someone he had thought was the most powerful man in the world. But he’s not. _He’s only one man_. The image of his father’s outraged face when he fully realized what was happening drifts back into his mind and Zuko smirks. Just a man. And now here he is, back in Canada. It feels different this time, and there is still so much work to be done. A long sigh escapes him as he bends over the tiny tub, twisting on the hot water tap.

In the shower, he squeezes out too much shampoo and marvels at how swiftly his fingers run through his hair now. He scratches at his scalp and the jets of water hitting his neck feel fresh and new. He feels light and floaty as he turns the taps off and watches the last little bits of hair swirl down the rusted drain.

He finds Uncle and Azula sitting at the table with a big bottle of saké. Zuko takes the little cup being offered to him and sits down with them, a grin plastered on his face.

Azula is smiling too, and Iroh looks like he’s going to cry. He raises his cup instead.

“I am so _proud_ of you both. It takes courage and bravery to do what you did. And I honor your new beginnings,” he nods toward Zuko’s new hair cut, “but this can be a very scary time. Never forget that I am _always_ here for you. Both of you.” He raises it higher, above his head, and Zuko and Azula raise theirs too.

“To Freedom.”

“To Freedom!"

“ _K_ _anpai_ ,” they all add in unison, sipping from their cups. For the first time, Zuko feels a sense of _home_ and he knows it’s not because of this dingy apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Special thanks again to Rachel!!! I feel like a crazy person, but TMS (and your writing in general) has utterly taken hold of me once again! You are a Fountain of Muses. Whenever I’m feeling dried up and lost for motivation, I read your work and a spark is lit in me. It’s something energetic. Woo woo. Magick. It’s unpredictable and when it ignites I give in and let it flow. To try to contain it would be like holding back lava. Rachel, thank you! Every time I read a new story of yours I fall a bit more in love with your writing. Is that even possible? To be IN LOVE with someone’s WRITING?!?! Well, it’s happening whether it is or not. I don’t question the universe, I just flow with it. So, here. I hope you enjoy this gift to you for all the inspiration you’ve given me. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
> 
> As I mentioned in my earlier notes, I have also recently been through a hair cutting of my own. I used my hair as a symbol to represent a 7 year spiritual journey I was on to honor my mother and discover myself. She died after battling cancer for 7 years when I was a teen. Through synchronicity and serendipity, I began this journey on the 10 year anniversary of her death. And 7 years later, on my most recent birthday, I turned the same age she was when she had been diagnosed and lost her hair from chemo for the first time. The way the numbers added up was just one of those crazy, magic, universe things that gives me chills and makes my aunt cry. But cutting my hair and shaving my head was something I HAD to do surrounded by my tribe and I let them take turns cutting my hair, like my mom did when my brother and I were little children.  
> When times are the toughest, remember to surround yourself with your loved ones. I hope this story touched your soul in some way and please know that no matter what has happened, tomorrow is a new day.  
> A new day to grow, to heal, to change, to love, to BE! You are loved.
> 
> Pester me on [Tumblr](https://adrianblack-on-ao3.tumblr.com/rel=%22nofollow%22)


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